What Was Lost
by Rayna Dyson
Summary: Jenny Burton has a great life.  The only problem is, she can't remember anything beyond the past six years.  With the help of a down-on-his-luck P.I. named John Casey, she searches for who she used to be.
1. Prologue

_What Was Lost

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_

Chapter One

Prologue

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My name is Jennifer Burton, and while I may look like a woman in her late 20s or early 30s, I've only been alive for six years. That was when I woke up on a beach in Santa Monica with no money, no identification, and what the doctors called a rare form of advanced retrograde amnesia. It's rare in that, normally, retrograde amnesia will allow a victim to remember the trauma that caused them to forget, but I don't remember what happened to me. I don't remember anything before waking up on that beach. I don't even remember my name. All I had to show for my life before that was a blinding headache and the clothes on my back.

I live with my fiancé, Charles Irving Bartowski, or Chuck as he likes to be called, and my five year old daughter, Grace Marie. In case you're caught on the math, let me clear things up for you. Yes, when I awoke a new person, with no memories, I was five months pregnant with Gracie, so I guess in a way, I did have something else with me. She's not Chuck's, as I didn't meet him until three years after my apparent incident. At least I'm pretty sure I didn't. He's told me that we never met before then, and I trust him.

Sometimes, I wonder if it bothers Chuck that Gracie so clearly isn't his. Her features are sharp and severe, like mine, but her hair is dark brown, almost black, in stark contrast to by dirty blonde tresses. And she has the darkest brown eyes. Eyes that I can't remember ever seeing that can only belong to her biological father. But if it does bother Chuck, he doesn't let on. He treats Gracie like his own daughter, and in my mind, she is. He's the only father she's ever known.

I serve frozen yogurt for a living at a small place in the Buy More Plaza in Burbank called Orange Orange. Believe me, I don't like the name either, but the powers that be didn't ask for my input. I think I have an educational background that would make me way overqualified for that job. It's not that I'm conceded or anything, but there are moments when I just _know_ that I'm thinking on a way higher plane than my coworkers. Sometimes I'll figure numbers in my head that would require others to use a calculator, or at least a piece of scratch paper. And my vocabulary and use of the English language far exceeds that of an average mall worker. But without the credentials to prove it, there's not a whole lot I can do about that.

But I've been taking night classes for the past year trying to earn, or perhaps _re_-earn a college degree so I can provide a better life for Gracie and me.

And Chuck is a part of that plan, of course. He understands me more than I think anyone else could. Besides his sister, and a few close friends, he doesn't really have much history either. His parents left him when he was young, and he doesn't like talking about it. He was unfairly dismissed from Stanford during his senior year for something he didn't do, and he doesn't like talking about that either. I'm fine with that. I wouldn't have anything to tell him in return. So together, we live in the present, and look forward to tomorrow.

Sometimes though, I can't help but wonder if I was meant for more. If who I was would look at my life—the simple life of a service industry worker making barely above minimum wage while raising a daughter with only the help of a man I met three years ago—and scoff.

Would she be proud of what I've become? Would she be glad that I'm a good mother to my—_our_ child? Did she even want Gracie? Did she even care? There are so many questions I would love to ask her—me, back then. But as time goes on, I'm coming to the conclusion that those answers will never be answered.

I've spent thousands of dollars on private investigators over the years, hoping that one of them could track down some clue as to my true identity. Most of my friends think I'm wasting money. Money I don't really have. They don't normally say anything to my face, but I hear the whispers behind my back. I can't really blame them. In their situation, I'd probably think the same thing. But the fact is, I'm not in their situation, and they couldn't possibly understand mine.

Chuck understands me. Or at least he tries to. At least he supports me. Even when I've gotten to the point of wanting to end my search in the past, when things have been so bleak, he's encouraged me to push forward. He's my rock. He and Gracie. She's still too young of course to really know that she gives me strength, but she does. I know she loves me, and I love her with all my heart, but there will come a day when she wants to know where she comes from. There may come a day when I _need_ to know who her father is. So I have to keep looking, for her. And for me.

Not knowing your true self is a feeling few people will ever know. There are days, of course, that it doesn't affect me at all. I have Gracie, and Chuck, and work, and now school to keep me busy. Keeping busy is really the best way to keep from thinking about my problems, and I've become a master at doing just that. But the slow days, it really sets in.

The slow days, I'll often stand naked in front of my mirror for hours on end and try to remember. Where did I get that scar just above my hip? What about the ache I feel in my right knee on rainy days? How did that happen? I seem to have an exorbitant number of scars covering my body. Most of them are too small to notice, unless you're looking. I'm always looking. I also wonder how many scars line my body in spots I can't see. Does Chuck see them? If he does, he doesn't mention it. He knows I wouldn't be able to tell him when or where or how I got it.

And why is my body so damaged to begin with? Was I some sort of extreme athlete in my past life? Or maybe I was an ultimate fighter. That would explain both the scars and my unusual level of fitness for a five-months-pregnant woman when I was discovered on that beach so many years ago.

But whatever I was, I'm not that anymore. And I don't want to be that again, regardless of who I was. I'm happy with who I am. I'm happy with my life. I'm happy with my family. I just want to be able to say that I know where I've been, and give that past life one final goodbye.

I've been working with the same private investigator now for six months. That's the longest I've had one last. Most of them have been ready to quit on me within a couple of months of me hiring them. I don't have a lot of information for them to go on, and most investigators have better-paying, easier cases to work. But now I'm down to the bottom of the barrel. The P.I. equivalent of ambulance chasers. It's all I can really afford anymore, and honestly, I've already used all the names that came highly recommended.

He hasn't been able to find anything just yet, but it hasn't stopped him from trying. He's uncovered a few false leads, each time calling me to tell me what he'd found before dashing my hopes when he discovered the lead was bone dry.

He refers to me as "Crazy Amnesia Lady." He doesn't think I know, but I do. For whatever I was, for whatever I _am_, I'm very perceptive. But I don't care. He can call me anything he wants if he can one day tell me who I really am.

He's never told me this, but I've kind of gathered that he doesn't get a lot of business. Not on the P.I. front, anyway. He bases his business out of the Spy Shop in the Buy More Plaza. There's a small sign near the register that touts "John Casey: Private Investigator", but the store is almost always empty. The only people I ever see go in there are Jeff and Lester, two of Chuck's idiot employees from the Buy More. In fact, I get the impression that I may be his last shot. We have that in common. He's my last shot, too.

And he really tries, I'll give him that. He's used everything he can think of. He's taken blood samples from me and from Gracie, and scoured the country looking for any matches, but so far, he's come up empty. He's even taken some dental x-rays I had done and tried to find a match, but he got zero hits.

It's almost seems sometimes as if I didn't exist before waking up in the sand that cool October morning. As if I was some clone of another person, created on an alien space ship and dropped off on the California coast. My nerdy fiancé has actually hypothesized as much. I generally roll my eyes and laugh when he says something like that, but sometimes, I almost think he has a point. If I didn't have the scars to prove otherwise, I'd almost believe it.

But I can't let my failure to discover my past dictate my present. It's two weeks to Christmas, and the height of the holiday party season. I have the good fortune of having a future sister-in-law that takes every opportunity to plan a party, and tonight, she expects me to share in her hostess duties.

Chuck, Gracie and I live in the same apartment complex as his sister Ellie, and tonight, we have a giant soiree planned in the courtyard that rests between us. Lights have been strung from one end to another, there's mistletoe abound, and the eggnog will be flowing like the water from the fountain that sits in the middle of that courtyard.

I really wish Ellie would've handled all the party stuff herself. Social gatherings aren't really my thing. I prefer the quiet comfort a night in over the hectic scene of one hundred of our close friends and co-workers milling about, expecting conversation and general merriment. I wonder if I was so adverse to being around people in my past life? Did the old me typically retreat from such settings, or did she thrive under those conditions? I would like to think that part of me is ingrained in my nature, but for all I know, I was a social butterfly before the incident.

And what of the father of my child? Is he someone I met at a party? A one night stand? Did I really know him? Did I love him? Did he love me? Is he maybe still out there, looking for me and our child? Surely he would've found us by now if he was, I would think. Unless I'm as hard to find for him as my past is for me.

There I go thinking again. I know it's useless, but it's hard not to let my mind wander to what might have been. Again, it's not that I want to leave my current life. I love my life. I just need closure.

And as I get dressed for the big party, I'm beginning to try to accept that closure may never come. Of course, I could be wrong. There could be a surprise right around the corner.

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End Prologue

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_Notes:_ This is not only my first Chuck fic, but it's also my first fic in general, so be gentle with me please? But still, I'd love to hear what everyone thinks, and any constructive criticism would be welcomed, and if you want to praise me, I can live with that, too! And thank you to my BFF Bridget for editing this for me. Couldn't do it without you, girl! Thank ya'll for reading.

_Disclaimer: _Also my first disclaimer, so I don't own the characters or the universe, but I think I'm going to have fun playing in it.


	2. Creep

_What Was Lost

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_

Chapter 2

Creep

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Jenny arrives at Ellie's apartment early. Parties may not be her thing, but Jenny owes Ellie many times over, and she'll do anything for her future sister in-law, including but not limited to attending large social gatherings that make her feel awkward and out of place.

Without Ellie, Jenny literally wouldn't be the woman she is. Ellie was the on-call neurologist when Jenny was brought in after she was found on that beach all those years ago. Ellie was the one that made it her personal mission to find someone that could identify Jenny. Someone that could give her a name. Because, as Ellie said back then, going through life as Jane Doe is something no one should have to suffer through.

And Ellie was successful. Kind of. A nurse at the hospital recognized Jenny from high school. The nurse said she didn't really know Jenny that well, but she remembered her face, and her name. That was how Jenny Burton got back a small piece of who she was before the incident, and it was all to Ellie's credit.

The young doctor stayed in touch with Jenny after she was discharged from the hospital, and eventually invited Jenny to Chuck's 26th birthday. That was where Jenny met Chuck, the man that changed her life forever. So having to endure one night of discomfort for Ellie's benefit seems to Jenny the least she can do for the first real friend she can ever remember having.

Ellie greets Jenny at the door and invites her in.

"Thanks for coming over early," Ellie says, moving away from the door and walking back towards the bathroom. "I just have to finish my makeup, and we'll start final preparations."

"You ever think you take these things too seriously?" Jenny asks, fiddling with a picture that sits on Ellie's mantle. It's a picture of Chuck and his best friend Morgan from when they were kids. Jenny absently wonders if someone, somewhere has pictures like that of her.

"Too seriously?" Ellie asks, reemerging from the bathroom while putting in her earrings. "That's easy to say for you. You have a fiancé and a daughter. Your whole family life is set up. Me, on the other hand…"

"You're single and afraid you're doomed to live a life alone," Jenny finishes for her. "Which, by the way, is a completely irrational fear. You're still young, you're beautiful, and you're a doctor, for crying out loud. The right guy is out there for you."

"Which is why we have these parties," Ellie says.

Jenny sighs. She can't really argue with Ellie's logic. Jenny would fear being alone too, if she didn't have Chuck and Gracie. And Jenny had been there for Ellie's breakup with her ex-boyfriend Devon. They'd been together for years, and Ellie really took it hard. Jenny still thinks it was the right thing for Ellie to do, ending things with Devon, but it didn't make the split any easier. It took months for Ellie to even test the waters in the dating pool after that, and when she did, she was met with an influx of duds and douche bags. Jenny knows Ellie deserves much better, and can't blame her for trying.

"And besides," Ellie continues, "you look absolutely gorgeous. Which, by the way, is not helping the rest of us that don't _have_ men at home. How's anyone supposed to notice me when you show up wearing _that_?"

Jenny looks down, suddenly self-conscious. She didn't really think about what she was going to wear for the party. The simple red cocktail dress she wore was the only thing she had in her closet that she thought was appropriate for a holiday party, and the Santa hat seemed like a nice touch at the time.

"You want me to go change?" Jenny asks.

"No," Ellie says. "I was only teasing you. Mostly."

000

Two hours later, Jenny finds herself sitting on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, her feet now bare and sliding back and forth across the brick walkway. Gracie is playing with some of the other kids at the party, and Jenny feels like she's done her part for Ellie. She mingled with everyone early on, she helped greet guest as they arrived, and now she can relax. Only she's interrupted.

"There's no reason to be a wallflower, Guinevere."

Jenny knows that voice. Lester. One of the many slackers that works for Chuck at the Buy More. Why Chuck keeps people like Lester, and worse, his idiot friend Jeff, on staff, Jenny will never know. Chuck really is too nice for his own good sometimes. Still, Jenny tries to fake a smile like she has all night. Her jaw is actually starting to ache from all the fake smiling.

"Just because Charles is bored with you, doesn't mean you're completely useless," the wee Indian man continues.

And Jenny loses her smile.

"Chuck's not bored with me," Jenny says through gritted teeth. "I'm alone because I want to be alone. And it's Jenny."

"You don't have to lie to me, _Jenny_," Lester says.

"Aw man," says a new, very drunken voice. Jeff, Jenny realizes. "You got the yogurt girl? I knew I should've made my move. It was only a matter of time before all her baggage made Chuck dump her."

"No one's 'got me,'" Jenny says. She's never killed anyone-that she knows of-but if ever there was a time for justifiable murder, Jenny figures that time is nearly upon her.

"So you're still available?" Jeff asks.

Just when Jenny feels like she can't take anymore, just when she's about to snap, she's pulled back from the abyss.

"Jeff, I hear they tapped a new keg," Morgan, Chuck's best friend, and now Jenny's guardian angel, says as he approaches.

"Beer? I like beer," Jeff says dumbly and walks off.

"Come on, Jenny. You don't want to miss Chuck's toast," Morgan adds.

When they're out of earshot, Jenny thanks Morgan for saving her from Jeff and Lester.

"What?" Morgan asks. "I was going to allow the lady of my best friend, the future wife of the Skipper to my Gilligan to be harassed by the dregs of Buy Moria?"

"You're Gilligan?" Jenny asks with a smirk. "Did someone leave you in the dryer too long? I thought Gilligan was a little taller."

"You wound me," Morgan replies, mockingly clutching his hand over his chest. "And I'm not that short. I'm just surrounded by people that are freakishly tall. Like you."

Jenny laughs at that. When she first met Chuck, she wasn't sure about Morgan, but over the years, she's come to appreciate Chuck's life-long friend for his loyalty to her fiancé. And she'll freely admit that Morgan has his moments where he surprises her with a maturity and grace that he doesn't normally show. Like saving her from Jeff and Lester.

"So Gilligan, where's your Mary Ann tonight?" Jenny asks as they make their way over to the makeshift stage where Chuck is preparing to make a toast.

"Mary Ann?" Morgan asks. "Honestly, if I am Gilligan, I'd like to think I was with Ginger. But to answer your question, Anna had to work late tonight."

Anna Wu used to work at the Buy More. Back when Jenny met Chuck-when Chuck was a lowly Nerd Herd supervisor-Anna was one of his Herders. It was back then that Anna and Morgan started dating. Somewhere along the line, however, Anna impressed John Casey enough that he hired her on to assist in his private investigator business. Jenny has never been able to figure out exactly what Anna does there, but for a struggling business to keep someone on full time, she must be good at whatever it is.

"Any idea what she's working on?" Jenny asks, hoping against hope that maybe it's something related to her case.

"None," Morgan answers. "But she seems to be working late a lot now. John Casey is a harsh taskmaster."

Jenny nods knowingly. "I just hope he's thorough enough to come through for me."

Morgan looks at her with a bemused look on his face. Jenny knows he wants to say something supportive, but like most of her friends, he's run out of supportive things to say. Fortunately, the awkward moment ends when Chuck begins to speak up on the stage.

"I was asked to say something here tonight," Chuck begins. Jenny knows he's uncomfortable speaking in front of crowds, but she has always found him adorable when he's nervous, so she can't help but smile. "Another year is winding down, I guess. The holidays are upon us, a time for friends and family. And soon, it'll be New Year's, and we'll have a new beginning, I guess. So, in closing, here's to all of you: my friends. May the best of your past be the worst of your future. Cheers."

Jenny smiles again and sips at her glass of wine. Chuck's speech is oddly eloquent for him, but he still manages to stumble around enough to be cute. And maybe he has a point. Maybe Jenny should stop worrying about her past. Maybe she should finally let it go. That could be her Christmas gift to herself, she decides.

000

"Just leave that table out here. We can bring that in tomorrow," Ellie shouts across the courtyard to Chuck and Morgan.

"We have to work tomorrow," Chuck answers. "And we don't mind cleaning up, do we?"

"Not at all," Jenny answers, stuffing the last of the cups littering the table in question into a garbage bag.

And that's true. Jenny really doesn't mind helping clean up. She actually prefers the clean up to the party itself. Cleaning has a set objective, and there aren't strangers all around, expecting her to talk to them.

"Seriously, guys, it's late," Ellie reiterates, still standing in her doorway.

"Fine," Chuck says. "Just let me get—oh my God!"

"What is it?" Jenny asks, walking over to Chuck who is standing by the fountain. Then she sees what startled him. "Oh my God! Is that Jeff?"

It is Jeff. He's lying in the fountain, fortunately face-up.

"Is he alive?" Morgan asks, poking Jeff with a stick.

The prodding seems to rouse Jeff, if just a little, as he growls and begins to roll over.

"No, Jeff," Chuck says, grabbing Jeff's arm to pull him to his feet. "Come on buddy, let's get you out of there."

With the help of Chuck and Morgan, Jeff is able to get to his feet. He looks conscious. Well, as conscious as Jeff ever looks, but he's not saying anything.

"Jeff, do you have a ride?" Chuck asks. "Where's Lester?"

"He took Loretta," Jeff growls.

"Who's Loretta?" Jenny asks, not sure she wants to know the answer. Any woman that would be associated with the likes of Jeff and Lester doesn't strike Jenny as someone that would exude class. Or either she's someone that has very poor judgment.

"Loretta is Jeff's creepy van," Morgan answers.

"Oh, well, that explains it," Jenny says. At least it's not an actual person.

"You didn't think it was so creepy when you thought Anna was cheating on you, and you asked—"

"Jeff, buddy, let's save that story for another time, okay?" Morgan says, blushing. "Here, come with me, I'll drive you home."

"Nuh-uh," Jenny says. "You've been drinking the whole night. You too, Chuck. Help me get him to the car and I'll drive him home, if you can tell me where he lives."

"You sure, Jen?" Chuck asks, handing Jenny a card that states Jeff's name and address. At least Jeff is a well prepared drunk. "I'll ride with you, if you want."

Jenny waves her hand dismissively. "No, you guys stay here and finish cleaning up. That way when I can get back, we can go right to bed. We both have to work early in the morning."

000

Two minutes into the drive, Jenny already regrets her decision to take Jeff home by herself. The smell was bad enough, but she got over that rather easily. As a mother of a small child, she can still remember changing poopy diapers, so a vagrant in her passenger seat barely registers on her smell radar.

The groping, on the other hand, is driving her mad. She repeatedly has to slap Jeff's hands away from her arm, her thigh, and one time her breast.

"Come on, Chuck's my boss. He won't mind sharing," Jeff slurs.

"Jeff, if you don't stop it, right now, I'm putting you out on the side of the road," Jenny says. She means it. She doesn't really care if Jeff gets home or not at this point.

"Just a quickie. No one has to know," Jeff continues.

He reaches for her again, and Jenny has had enough. She grabs his hand and shoves him away from her, taking her eyes off the road briefly. That split-second is all it takes.

When she focuses back on the road, she realizes she's flying toward an intersection. She's speeding toward a red light.

"Dammit!"

It's all Jenny has time to say as she slams on breaks and tries to swerve around a large box truck barreling toward her from her left. She avoids contact with the other vehicle, but the car's momentum sends her skidding the railing of a small bridge just on the other side of the intersection.

Not that she can focus on any of that. As soon as she hits the brakes, it's all lights spinning by, and screaming tires, and smoke, and darkness again, and finally a hard jolt.

Jenny strikes the railing head-on, and because she removed her seatbelt earlier, in order to slide as far away as possible from Jeff, she's thrown through the windshield and over the railing.

Somehow, time seems to slow and speed up all at the same time. Jenny has time to feel fear, panic, and regret, but the water below is approaching her faster than she can react. It's an incredibly detached feeling, falling to what she thinks may be her death. She's always wondered what it would be like to fly.

Jenny feels something pop when she hits the water. Blinding pain shoots through her shoulder as she's submerged, but her first thought is _I'm not dead. _

"_Your shoulder's dislocated."_

It's a voice just on the edge of her consciousness. Jenny doesn't recognize it, but it seems all too familiar. Still, she doesn't have to think about it. She fights to get back to the surface. Now she's not thinking anymore, she's reacting, she's obeying the voice when she grabs her left wrist-the arm connected to the damaged shoulder—and forcefully yanks, popping her shoulder back in its socket.

Jenny yelps in pain, but manages to flail about in the water, just trying to stay afloat, trying to survive.

"_Get to dry land,_" the voice demands.

Jenny looks around frantically for somewhere to swim. Her breathing is ragged, but finally, she thinks she spots something. She tries to paddle her way to the land mass that is just close enough for her to see, but her arm is deadweight. If anything, it's pulling her down.

"_Use your legs! Your arm's not strong enough."_

Where did the voice come from? Has it always been there? Jenny doesn't know. She doesn't know anything but pain. Still, she does as she's told and switches to a stroke that utilizes more leg kick than arm power, and when she eventually reaches the shore, she walks far enough to be clear of the water, coughs, and collapses.

000

It's not a dream. Well, it is, but not really. It's more like a memory just beyond her reach.

There's a woman standing on a cliff, looking out over a vast nothingness. Storm clouds loom in the background, making this dangerous woman look even more dangerous. Then Jenny focuses on the woman's face. Something seems familiar about her.

It seems familiar because this woman looks almost exactly like her. Only, the memory has lighter hair, carries a gun, wears a dangerous scowl, and looks altogether more fit than Jenny can ever remember being. A sister perhaps?

She doesn't have any more time to think about it, as the woman in her dream, in her memory jumps from the cliff, and Jenny can feel her falling.

The feeling of falling causes Jenny to wake with a start, with a scream. Her breathing is labored, her vision blurry, and Jenny realizes she's in a hospital.

"Oh my god," she says breathlessly. Who _was_ that?

* * *

End Chapter 2

* * *

_Notes: _Thank you to everyone that read and reviewed the first chapter. I'm really excited about the possibilities for this story, and it's nice to know that people are interested in this, my rookie effort. I guess I should mention that I got an angry PM from someone that was upset that I didn't say upfront that the setup to this story was based on _The Long Kiss Goodnight_. I don't know why I should have to tell you that. If you've seen the movie, great, you'll recognize some of the themes. If not, great, it's a good story, and you'll get to experience it for the first time. But other than that one PM, most of you were very supportive, and I appreciate that.


	3. That Secret That You Know

_What Was Lost

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_

Chapter 3

That Secret That You Know

* * *

The nurse is just leaving after checking Jenny over when there's a light knock on her hospital room door. She cranes her neck up to see her visitor. Even with the early morning daylight streaming in through the window obscuring her view, she knows who he is. She'd know that silhouette anywhere.

"Hey Chuck," Jenny says, giving him the best smile she can muster in her condition. And even with her head wrapped in bandages, and even with her arm in a sling, and even after that strange dream, Jenny is genuinely happy to see him. There were moments during the accident she was convinced she wouldn't get this opportunity again.

Chuck's at her bedside in a flash. He has a drink holder with two cups and a bag that smells like something delicious that he promptly sits down as he pulls a chair up to sit next to her bed, taking her good hand in his.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," Chuck says. When they fight, he's always the first to apologize. He's the first to apologize even when they don't fight, even if it's not necessary, like now. It's a trait that would annoy Jenny if he wasn't so charming about it.

"You don't need to apologize, Chuck. I under—"

"No, I mean, I _wanted _to be here, but they're kind of strict about visiting hours here, and they _made_ me leave, and really, you should talk to someone about your insurance, because I told them to take you to Westside so Ellie could take care of you, but they said you weren't covered there because of where the accident happened, and—"

"Chuck," Jenny says gently, interrupting his rambling, which she also has always found oddly charming. "It's okay, I promise. Now, I think I smell breakfast."

"Oh, right," Chuck says, jumping from the chair, releasing her hand and fumbling with the bag he brought in earlier. "Since I couldn't get in to see you, I thought you might want something to eat. You know, something decent, because if there's one thing I've learned from having a doctor for a sister, it's that—"

"Hospital food blows?" Jenny asks.

"Yeah, pretty much," he answers. "So for you, milady, there will be no hospital food. Just a chocolate croissant and a nice cup of coffee from that place you like, just the way you take it."

"Double shot Americano, no cream, no sugar?" Jenny asks.

"Please, who you think you're talking to?"

Jenny loves the way Chuck puts her at ease. Loves the way he takes care of her. Things between them are just so beautifully simple. Still, as much as all that is true, Jenny is unsure if she should tell Chuck about the voice that spoke to her after the accident. She doesn't know if she can tell Chuck about the woman that appeared to her in her memory, or dream, or whatever it was.

Would he understand? He's always been so understanding of Jenny's other quirks and issues, but could this be the one thing that pushes him over the edge, makes him think she's crazy? Often times, throughout her search for her true self, Chuck has been the only one that's supported her. He's been the only one in her corner. She can't afford to lose him now.

"It's good," Jenny says through a mouth full of pastry, drawing a chuckle from her fiancé. She's doing her best to mask the whirlwind of emotion and thoughts running through her head, and for the moment at least, it seems to be working.

"Oh, I spoke to the nurse at the front desk. She said that your attending was running late, but as soon as he can get in and look you over one last time, you'll be discharged so I can take you home," Chuck says.

"Good," Jenny answers. "I can't wait to be out of here. I'll probably rest much better when I can sleep in my own bed. And see Gracie."

"You didn't sleep well?" Chuck asks, suddenly concerned.

Jenny chews her lip contemplatively. It would be an obvious tell if she was playing poker or something, but Chuck doesn't seem to pick up on it. He sucks at poker anyway. But he's given her the perfect opportunity to tell him about her dream, about the voice, and she really wants to talk to him about it, to confide in him. He's the one she's chosen as her life partner, and she knows she really should let him in on things like this.

"Well, see," she starts, then stops. She still can't work up the courage to tell him. "I was just worried about Gracie. And you."

Chuck's expression at this point is one full of sympathy, and concern, and love. He's bought her lie.

"You don't have to worry about us," he says softly, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, behind her ear. "It's our turn to take care of _you_. We just want you to get better."

She should feel touched, and she does, only more than that, she feels the pang of guilt. Guilt that she's lying to him. Not overtly, of course, but lies of omission are lies still the same.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asks. The question, she knows, is loaded with the guilt she feels. That's what makes her voice almost crack as she says it.

"Because I love you," he answers, only making Jenny feel worse. Why does he have to be so sweet, so genuine right now? It makes hiding the truth from him even harder.

"I love you too," she says softly.

Jenny thinks for a moment. She's going to tell Chuck the truth, the whole truth. She's going to tell him about the voice that saved her as she was set adrift in a dark lake. She's going to tell him about the woman that came to her in her dream. She's going to tell him everything, and he won't judge her, because he loves her.

She's going to tell him. Later.

000

"_And we'll leave you tonight with a happy story. A real Holiday Miracle_," says the television news anchor. The prisoners at this secure facility are brought into a common room to watch television for one hour every day. More often than not, bringing the criminals together only leads to fights, but it gives the guards cause to inflict pain on those prisoners, and that's the real reason this hour even exists.

"_Last night, an accident on Glendale Boulevard left Jennifer Burton, of Burbank, hospitalized when her car swerved into a bridge railing. Burton was thrown clear of the gar and into Echo Lake in what authorities claim should have been fatal. Fortunately for her loved ones, this story has a happy ending for Burton. I'm sure they're glad to have her home this Christmas. Her passenger, Jeffrey Barnes, also of Burbank, was treated and released with only minor injuries."_

For most, this would be a feel-good story. For the inmates in this top-secret government holding facility, however, feel-good stories don't exist. Most of the prisoners ignore the report completely. All of them do, in fact, until the final shot showing a picture of this "Jennifer Burton."

For one of the prisoners, prisoner number 77142135, Vincent Smith, that face has a meaning. Vincent, a large, bald, intimidating man reaches up and fingers a scar on his own face that runs from the corner of his left eye all the way down to his jaw. Then he erupts.

"How is that bitch still alive!" he shouts, rushing toward the television, which is kept in a solid iron cage. "No, I fucking killed her!" Vincent starts shaking the box holding the television angrily, drawing the attention of the guards.

The first guard that tries to subdue the man is maybe half the prisoner's size. The angry inmate easily takes this guard down with one swing. That's all it takes to induce a full scale riot.

Every prisoner in the room jumps into the fray, attacking the nearest guard they can find. Complete mayhem reigns supreme as prisoners and guards alike attack every warm body in reach. For the prisoners, it's a fight for freedom and revenge against their sometimes abusive captors. For the guards, it's a fight for survival. And for the man that started the entire mêlée, it's a distraction.

Stealthily stepping out of the mass of humanity, Vincent drags one of the felled guards into a corner. He changes into the guard's uniform, takes his keys and gun, and leaves the unconscious prison guard in his underwear in the corner of that room.

Using the mass confusion to his advantage, Vincent is able to walk out the front gate to the prison building. One of the guards at the front entrance waves to him as he passes, and he waves back, faking a smile.

"That was too damn easy," Vincent mutters to himself once he's outside.

Fortunately for him, the guard he ripped off left his car keys in his pocket, complete with keyless entry. A short stroll around the employee parking lot while pressing he "unlock" button yields exactly what he wants. An escape, a location, and now a car. "This is too easy," Vincent repeats to himself as he pulls out onto the main road.

000

"Hey, boss," Anna Wu says as he walks in the door. She barely looks up from whatever paperwork she's reviewing.

Private Investigator is still not a title John Casey is accustomed to having—in fact he's only had it for two years—but at least he finally has a capable assistant. Anna's a damn fine worker, and tough to boot.

"Wu," he greets her gruffly. "You got anything for me?"

"Got everything you need for Mrs. Kane's case," Anna says.

"Everything?" Casey asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"I got pictures, I got audio, I got video, hell, I think I could've gotten a signed confession, if I wanted," Anna says, shrugging.

"Wait, so you organized a sting yourself?"

Anna shrugs again. "I got bored watching, so I figured I'd get the job done myself. For a software magnate, that Mr. Kane? Not that smart. I had him wrapped around my little finger before we even left the hotel bar."

Casey's laugh rumbles deep in his broad chest. "You know Wu, it's a shame I didn't meet you years ago." He doesn't tell her why. Doesn't tell her that had he met her years ago, she wouldn't be working as an assistant P.I. in some ratty spy shop in a second rate shopping center.

"If you'd met me too many years ago, we'd be going after pedophiles, I think," Anna quips. "I'm only 21."

"Fair enough," Casey says. He lets her think he was talking about private investigator work. "Anything else?"

"_Is_ there?" Anna says excitedly, picking up a file from the table in front of her. "I got a hit on the 'Crazy Amnesia Lady' file."

"Don't you know her personally?" Casey asks. "Why would _you_ call her that?"

"That's how you labeled it," Anna says, turning the file folder to show that that is indeed the case. "And I call her Jenny to her face. But yeah, I got a hit on that other name you told me to use."

"Yeah?" Casey asks.

"Yeah, an overdue library book in Bethesda, Maryland, of all places." Anna pauses, shaking her head. "Who would've thought it? The key to cracking this case could be a book she forgot to return."

"This business is all about the details," Casey says, taking the folder out of Anna's hands.

"Where'd you find that name, anyway? There's nothing in the file about it, and I've never heard Jenny mention it before," Anna says.

"Sources, Wu. It's all about your sources," Casey says vaguely. Once again, there are some things he just can't tell his assistant. "Anyway, good work. On both cases, good work. Looks like there might be some money to throw around here soon, and just in time for Christmas."

"I do like money," Anna says wistfully.

"Anyway, I'll call Ms. Burton up later to let her know we might have something. Right now, I'm gonna step out for a few. Go get a coffee. You need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," Anna says, waving him away.

Casey realizes that his assistant has long learned that asking for anything during his daily coffee run will generally end in disappointment. His mind, on these trips, is never in the right place to remember. But she doesn't ask where he goes anymore, and she doesn't try to follow him, which Casey respects. He knows Anna knows something goes on while he's away. He figures she probably thinks he has some steamy affair going on, but the truth is, he just goes for pie and coffee.

Of course, it's not really that simple. There's a very specific reason he goes to the same diner every day, and it's not the quality of the pie, as he tells his regular waitress. The reason he goes to that diner is the same reason he's stuck working as a P.I. now. The same reason he came to Burbank to begin with. The same reason he doesn't go when that waitress isn't on shift. It's a reason he's not ready or willing to share with anyone. Not Anna, and certainly not the waitress herself, even if she deserves to know more than anyone.

"Hey, John," the cute server greets him. "Let me guess, apple pie, and coffee, black and bitter?"

"You can read me like a book, Alex," he says affectionately. An affection most people don't realize John Casey possesses. But then, no one knows John like Alex does, even if she doesn't know it yet. Maybe one day he'll tell her, but first he needs a better ending to his story. "You know I love that pie."

* * *

_Note:_ I really have to thank my friend Bridget again. She's been editing for me all along, but she completely reworked part of this for me, and it's so much better for her efforts. And for those that have been asking, I hope you enjoyed Casey finally joining the fray. He'll be a major, major player in this story. That's why he got his own point of view portion. And finally, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review my story!


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